


it comes to light

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [84]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fan Offspring, Grubs, Illustrated, Insomnia, Lusii, M/M, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of living with gnawing fear and guilt, Meenah is finally vindicated with the last thing she expected: the truth. But will this revelation change anything?</p>
<p>Takes place after 'what comes after the beyond?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. far too young

**Author's Note:**

> So, due to the larger gaps in updates since my body’s been crappy to me lately, I’ve decided to include recaps of what’s happened so far in TS. Since I can’t include everything that happens, recaps will just include important plot-stuff. Feel free to skip this. 
> 
> Previously on Trailerstuck: In the hopes of reaching a spiritual awakening, Eridan drinks the hallucinogenic Black Phoenix Tea, purchased from questionable trolls on a trip to the sketchy side of New Jack known as the Underdraft. What comes of this drug trip is nightmarish, forcing Eridan to contend with all his fears at once. The noxious brew also makes him overdose and Eridan wakes up in the hospital. When confronted about his stupidity, Eridan confesses a long held secret to Karkat: encouraged by his grandfather, he attacked Karkat and framed Gamzee for the misdeed. Karkat—reasonably—flips the fuck out and leaves. Now the mutantblood only has one question left: What of Gamzee?

**== >Be the second oldest fuchsiablood on the planet **

The upside to Eridan being in the hospital is that you’re not obliged to visit him, and you can spend more time with Dmitry. It also gives you an excuse to visit Jane, for whom the city has provided a quaint trailer on Anderson Road. Her church has already pooled their resources to help pay part of the rent.  

“I’d rather have the grandkids in the church daycare but you know the baptism mess.” You sit in Jane’s sparse living room. Suxxor watches TV while Dmitry and Momeju bob in their inflatable pool.

“It’s a shame not to have Momeju baptized,” Jane sighs, “I think she’d do well in an Orthodoxian environment. Who knows what Eridan will have Suxxor and Dmitry do? Probably run the streets with all the other children.”

_Or sacrificing goats and eating hallucinogenic mushrooms._ No one in the neighborhood has a conclusive reason for Eridan’s hospitalization but there are theories. The most plausible is that he was doing peyote and things went south. He wouldn’t be the first to do so, but he was a parent: not a proud moment for the Amporas.

“Fef may have her way. Momeju may be Eridan’s blood but she’s under Fef’s house.” Or Fef and Kanaya’s house. The two were nigh inseparable in their ‘puppy red love’ stage. “Speaking of little ones, how’s John? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

“Oh, he’s with his girlfriend.” Jane shrugs, “They get old enough to realize they can have their own fun and rarely come home.”

Just like a Leder woman to sit back and let their fathers, husbands, and sons do as they please. Some things never change. “It must be awful being alone all the time…”

“It’s not that bad. Damara and Aradia are my neighbors, and Roxy, Dirk, and Jake are always visiting. And you of course! Everyone likes fussing over me…” She touches the scar on her face; the permanent mark that will never go away even with cosmetic surgery.

You touch her hand and Jane looks at you, startled. “We only worry because we care.”

Jane blinks and gently takes your hand. “Meenah, I’m an old woman now. You can’t expect me…I mean, I’m _flattered_ but I’m not the right _person_ for you.”

Your hands are gigantic compared to hers. “Who would be the ‘right person’?”

“You need…” Jane pauses, “…someone who’s more ‘out there’. I can’t see myself dating a troll.” She touches the manicula chain around her perfect neck. “I still consider myself _married._ ”

“Oh.” Her words are a sucker-punch to your gut, but smile through the pain (and wonder if this is what it’s like to be Kankri). “Can we still be friends though?”

“Of course! You’re not the first person to hit on me.” Jane chuckles, “I’m sure you’ll find a great match. Maybe Roxy knows someone?”

You’d off your gill fronds than ask Roxy Lalonde for help. You hate her, love her, and miss her all in the same breath. You are a beautiful disaster together, like a head-on collision of trains full of fireworks.

You don’t leave immediately though because Jane would think something was wrong. Even though it hurts, you stay until noon and then head for SHEV.

Jake is out front polishing a gun with Khanie in his lap. “Now, Khanie, this is a Browning BPS. It’s the best kind of gun for hunting flying lusii. The BPS feeds and ejects shells out the bottom rather than the side--”

“Jake, she doesn’t have _fingers_. She can’t even _hold_ the gun.” You snicker, walking up to him.

“You’re never too young to learn self defense.” Jake says, “Dirk learned how to kill a man before he hit puberty.”

“Neither _you_ nor _Dirk’s_ upbringing is not something I would mimic.”

“True, but those skills kept us alive.”

You can’t argue with that. You put Suxxor on the ground and Khanie jumps out of Jake’s lap for a welcoming headbutt. Suxxor answers with an angry squeak and more forceful headbutt.

Jake frowns. “Are they supposed to attack each other on sight?”

“Well, _she’s_ the aggressor,” you say, “but this is normal for some grubs.” You glance around, then realize something unusual, “Where’s Dirk?”

“He’s upstairs talking to his new best friend.” He says.

“I was unaware Dirk had friends.” You say snidely.

“He _says_ he’s working but I know he’s on Trollichum chatting like a giddy schoolgirl.” Jake smirks. “I think it’s cute he made a friend while playing World of Skaia.”

“Is the BFFsie anyone we know?”

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy. He doesn’t want anyone harassing him.”

That’s cuter behavior than you expected from Dirk. “You know, Petros spent a lot of time with you guys. Did you guys--”

“We never had a threesome!”

You stare at him. “…that is _not_ what I was going to ask.”

“Really? Oh.” Jake’s face flushes dusky red, “You…were going to ask about the murders? Well.” He coughs nervously, “We had no clue but I always suspected he had some secrets.”

“You can’t just brush over mentioning threesomes like that, English,” you argue, “especially when you’re _blushing_!”

Jake laughs like a schoolboy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “No, I’m not! Its hot out here!”

“Don’t be _koi_.” you tease, “You wouldn’t be the first to think Petros was hot. Thousands of poems were dedicated to the Summoner’s charms.”

“Nothing happened!” Jake insists, “We always joked about it but no one was ever serious about ‘riding the bull’.”

“What?” you laugh.

“His words! Not ours!” Jake insists.                              

_“Oh my gods!”_ You laugh harder, “I’m just imagining Dirk and you in cowboy outfits…”

“Please _don’t_.” Jake groans.

“I heard Jake being flustered and a laughing Peixes, which means my husband must have said _something_ he wasn’t supposed to.” Dirk says, walking down the stairs.

“Riding the bull!” you laugh.

Dirk glares at his husband. “ _Jake_.”

“It was an accident!” Jake insists.

You then imagine Dirk in cowboy gear and start laughing harder.

Dirk frowns, face reddening. “Nothing happened and _Petros_ saidthat _._ ”

You grin. “Well, he’s a Nitram. They have a habit of getting what they want. Rufioh got _crazy_ laid with jokes in high school.”

“Rufioh’s a power bottom.” Dirk snorts, “It’s not difficult for him to get laid— _and why do I know that?_ ” He groans. “It’s official: I know _too_ _much_ about everyone’s sex lives. It’s awful enough sharing a home with three teenagers.”

“Adolescents.” Jake corrects.

“Where’s Jade at anyway?” Meenah asks.

“Roxy took her to the doctor.” Jake says, “I would go but I’m playing mother.”

“And I take over when Jake takes his medication and passes out.” Dirk says, sitting next to his husband.

Suxxor is chasing Khanie, up and down the deck. Dmitry watches, too small and intimidated to join in. Momeju suspiciously sniffs Dirk’s hand, trying to judge his character by smell.

“Is it alright if I leave the kids here? I won’t be gone long.” You say.

“Pick them up before it gets too late or Karkat will be stuck the swarm.” Dirk says.

“I trust him with the kids more than Eridan.” You admit.

You love your grandkids but you were hoping to be done with handling them after Feferi molted.

You drive to Aranea’s trailer and find your moirail’s condition hasn’t improved. She lost a lot of weight and walks with a slump.

You embrace her. “How you doing, moray-eel?”

“Not good.” Aranea sighs.

You follow her into the egg’s room. It’s placed inside a crib and buried under a mountain of blankets. It’s blue and smaller than it should be, with web-like splinters across the surface.

“The doctors did X-rays but its too early to tell.” Aranea sighs, “Is there even a point in naming them? They might…”

“We don’t _know_ that. Gamzee’s egg survived a lot worse. I bet your kid’s going to be fine. What name did you pick?”

“Eukary.” Aranea forces a smile, “Do you want something to eat?”

Aranea makes you an awful tea with stale ginger snaps but you grin and bear it. You also try not to stare at the horse decorations or their enlarged genitals. Themma is asleep under a horse blanket in her pen.

“She nearly chewed my books to bits.” Aranea says, “Thank gods she exhausted herself.”

“How’s Arthat?” you ask.

“Oh, he’s doing _wonderful_! Vriska brings him every weekend. She still won’t let me see where she lives but I’m doing my best to be understanding. Arthat is happy so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

You’re not as optimistic but Vriska’s smart. She’s survived worse.

“Now, there’s something I have to talk to you about.” With those words, Aranea drops her worried expression, becoming stoic.

“What’s…going on?” you ask.

“There’s…something you have to know.” Aranea sits next to you. “When Eridan gets out of the hospital, he has something important to tell you. Karkat is the one who told me about this and we both decided that I should be the one to tell you.”

Your heart almost stops beating. You clench your fists but Aranea runs her smooth fingertips over your scarred knuckles. “I bet I know what it is.”

“ _Meenah_.” She touches your face. “Listen to me: Eridan almost died. When he comes home, he’ll be weak. You can’t storm his trailer with a trident. We don’t even know what he wants to say.”

“There’s only _one thing_ Eridan has to say to me!” you snap.

“Shoosh.” Aranea strokes your face, “Think of your grandchildren.”

You sink into the couch. “When do I have to deal with his bullshit?” you grunt.

“Whenever he gets out of the hospital.”

“Fine. Whatever.” You stand, “I’ll deal with it.”

“Meenah…”

“I won’t do anything rash. I promise.”

You leave the trailer in a worse mood than you arrived.

 

Eridan spends a week in the hospital.

When Eridan leaves the hospital, you take every precaution. You drop off Dmitry and Suxxor and don’t venture to see him. You learn of Eridan’s condition via word of mouth from Kanaya. You’ve been trying to bond with her, forcing your mind to acknowledge that although she has the Dolorosa’s face and poise, their personalities couldn’t be more different.

“It had something to do with Alternian Jessamine, or so Karkat said,” Kanaya explains, “Apparently he’d told Karkat it was a gift for me.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I looked up the plant. It’s a well known hallucinogen, used in most rural areas as a treatment for fevers but high doses cause hallucinations.”

You’re sitting in the living room with Feferi and Kanaya under the cross-breeze of two fans. Momeju sleeps in Kanaya’s lap.

Feferi shakes her head, “It’s just like Eridan to seek happiness that way; to lie, cheat, and steal for a pointless goal.”

“Aranea says Eridan wants to talk to me.” You grunt, “I shouldn’t bother. What’s the point of listening to a liar?”

“Mom,” Feferi sighs, “I know you and Eridan don’t get along but you have to learn to forgive. Holding grudges doesn’t help anyone.”

“What’s the _point_ of forgiving a lying traitorous dickbag?” you demand.

Kanaya intervenes, “Meenah, I broke up with Eridan but I don’t hate him. We were just at different points in our lives. If we lose our capacity to forgive, we lose part of ourselves. That’s true for everyone, even trolls.”

“Even _enemies_ , huh?” You sneer.

You leave the trailer. You need fresh air and the girls will be fine on their own.

You walk through the muddy neighborhood, itching for a cigarette. You smoked like a factory in Leder and then the riots happened and you were cut off from your favorite brands. Now you’re in the UTC where smoking is on par with drowning kittens.

You promised to cut back for Fef’s sake too, but Gamzee? You never gave a shit what happened to him. He had already molted and survived the worst Leder had to offer.

He was always tough, from the day he hatched.  

What _is_ your relationship with Gamzee?

You can’t bond with him. There’s been too much time and distance for maternal affections. You were a mess for most of his childhood; no better than your father and Kankri.

No wonder he’s so fucked up.  

Thoughts of Kankri make you wander to his trailer, but no one’s home.

“Hey.” Karkat calls from across the street. You walk over and see Kempie in his arms. “Kankri went into labor so Terezi went with him.”

“That why he’s with you?” You say, pointing to Kempie.

“Yeah. He finally stopped whining.” Karkat sighs. He pats Kempie on the head, but the grub sniffles.

“About…Eridan…” You had something in mind but now you don’t know what to say.

Karkat slowly nods. “We’re going to talk Saturday, in the Nitram trailer. You don’t have to come if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“Why Nitram’s?” 

“It’s neutral, or as close as we’re going to get.”

“Fine…”

You don’t know what else to say, so you leave. You go back to the trailer and the girls are cooking dinner. Kanaya stays for dinner and plays with Momeju before leaving. You question if she’ll move in with you if Porrim moves in with Rufioh. (Kanaya’s definitely made herself _comfortable_ in your trailer.)

 

On Saturday, the Nitram trailer is pristine and quiet. With Petros gone, the animals have migrated and the smell of pot has faded. Tavros and Eridan are present but not talking. Tavros is sitting on the couch and Eridan is propped up in a chair.

Eridan looks…older. He’s thinner but near-death radically changes anyone’s look. He’s holding onto a cane (did he hurt his leg too?) and has a nervous tremble.

 

 

What gets you the most are the two scars. In the manor, there was a single picture of Dualscar when he was Eridan’s age: a young, proud violetblood with smooth black hair pulled into a ponytail and a skinny body knotted by scars and muscles.

Now Eridan has become him.

“Where is…?” you begin.

“Doesn’t want any part of this.” Tavros sighs.

You drag a chair to the door, maintaining your distance between Eridan. “Say what you have to say.”

“I…” Eridan’s voice is raspy but his body language is not nervous. “…I was the one who attacked Karkat. Not Gamzee. It was grand-- _father’s_ idea.”

“I know,” You growl, “You had a duplicate costume, didn’t you?” Eridan nods. “I knew it. I fucking _knew_ _it_! The minute Karkat said the Minotaur was short, I _knew_ there was two.” You inhale, heart feeling like it’s being squeezed. “I looked for evidence. I scoured every inch of that fucking _disgusting_ swamp trying to prove my son was innocent.” 

“I can imagine,” Eridan whispers, “and I don’t…know how to make this right.”

“Meenah, we were kids.” Karkat begins, “I don’t even _remember_ \--”

“Just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean it has less significance!” you argue, “And what about you, Tavros? This is your matesprit and you’re just…” A cold anger seeps into you. “Sitting there. All we _do_ now is talk!”

“So what do you want then?” Tavros snorts, “You mean hitting Eridan? You mean _killing_ him? What good would _that_ do?”

“I don’t know but at least it would do _something_! _”_

“What’s with the yelling?”

Gamzee stands in the hall with Simham on his shoulder, chewing his hair (which has been organized into long dreadlocks). One look at your son and your anger is paralyzed.

“Does Nepeta know you have Simham?” Tavros asks.

“I just came from her place.” Gamzee grumbles, “I got in like ten minutes ago. I was going to sleep in the bedroom but there’s all this racket.” He glances at you, Eridan, and sighs. “Oh. You’re doing _this_ mess.”

“How can you not be here?” Your voice cracks, “How could you not--”

“Because I already knew this.” Gamzee says, bored, “Way I figure, this shit doesn’t make a difference now. I was destined for prison the minute I was laid.”

When did he start sounding so mature? “So…what now?”

“I can’t figure that shit out for you. _Ow_!” Gamzee pulls Simham off his dreads and the grub laughs. “Do whatever stupid thing you usually do. Just save me a headache and think of Fef _before_ you do it.”

And then he’s disappears into the bedroom with his son.

You consider Feferi’s words, and then say to Eridan, “I guess there’s no point. _I’m_ not the one who went to prison.”

“I think the medical bills for your hospital stay and the after effects are enough.” Karkat says.

Eridan shakily stands, approaches you with a hobbled limp. “I know I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness…”

“Eridan, it’s…” You sigh, “You were a kid. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I still don’t know what I’m doing.” He admits, the scarred eye still unfocused.

“Neither do I.” you admit.

You embrace each other, cutting off the anger and revenge before it begins.

 


	2. the outsiders have their say

**== >Be Sollux at that very moment **

Gods, you hate waiting rooms. You hate everything about this, but you have no other option.

The waiting room is small and the parents are stiff and silent. The only ones making any noise are the grubs.

Suxxor is sulkily looking out his carrier. It’s amazing the little shit can tug on your heartstrings with a sad whine. You decide to let him out.

His first action once he’s out of the carrier is to gnaw on your fingers. You put him on the ground and try to get him to run around but instead, he headbutts your ankle.

“Keep this shit up and you go _back_ in the carrier.” You tell him.

He ignores you, of course. The other parents roll their eyes and avoid looking at you, while ignoring their still caged grubs. What a bunch of assholes.

The door swings open and Vriska walks in. You almost don’t recognize her with the designer shades, clothes, and her huge purse.

Vriska plops down next to you. “Got the yellow letter too?”

Only feds send message on yellow paper. “No, I made an appointment.”

“Way to plan ahead, Captor.” Arthat growls at you. He lacks Khanie’s fat face but he has Karkat’s glare.

“Non! Non!” Arthat yells, climbing out the purse.

Vriska rolls her eyes. “Arthat, don’t start _this_ again...”

“Fussy?” you ask.

“He’s a pain in the ass in the morning.”

“Oh, so he’s _you_.”

“Ha ha. Where’s Eridan’s other mistake?”

“With Cronus. Meenah’s had to deal with Suxxor, Momeju, _and_ him all week and she’s burnt out.”

“Yeah, I heard all about how Meenah’s been keeping her precious guppies safe from their awful Dad.” You scowl and Vriska shrugs. “You’re an idiot if you think you can keep a secret in our neighborhood for long.”

“What _exactly_ do you know?”

“I know Eridan and Kanaya broke up and she’s with _your_ ex-matesprit.”

“Non!” Arthat yells.

Suxxor chirps at him, tilting his head.

Vriska smirks. “Looks like your son hasn’t developed as far as mine.”  

“Developed or not, they’re both brats.” You grumble.

“Idiotejaune!” Arthat yells. He pauses to look at Vriska for approval and then continues, “Idiote jaune laid! Vilaines dents!”

You glare at the grub. “Oh wow. Looks like he got your smarts and Karkat’s sass: a match made in the bowels of hell.”

Arthat sinks his teeth into your hand and his bite is a _lot_ harder than Suxxor’s. “Ow! Shit! _Let_ _go_!”

Suxxor laughs as you struggle with the mutant ceruleanblood grub. The kid doesn’t let go until Vriska pats him on the head.

“Alright, sweetie. Let the _idiote jaune_ go.” Vriska coos. Arthat releases you but keeps glaring.

“ _Idiote jaune?_ ” you ask.

“’Yellow idiot’.” Vriska translates, “My baby is the most adorable genius is the world.”

“Bullshit, he is. Suxxor is twice as adorable.” You insist.

Suxxor is giggling and chirping with Arthat. Apparently injuring you is criteria for friendship.

“Rumor has it that you’re a call girl.”

“Call girls wish they got paid as much as I do.” Vriska tosses her hair. “The next time you’re in the magazine section at Wal-Mart, _I’ll_ be on the cover.”

“Which one?”

“Don’t know.” She shrugs. “That’s for the managers to deal with. I’m just the face of the business.”

The door on the other side of the room opens and a human in a stiff white uniform walks out.

“Captor.”

“Right here.” You pick up Suxxor and walk over.

You follow them through the doorway. The human doesn’t bother with conversation.

You’re brought to a cold examination room. Your arms are covered with goose-bumps; your memories are blurred, you still recall this room and location. Five minutes later, a human nurse comes in, accompanied by a carapace physician. The nurse does the usual examinations of your son—weight, blood pressure, temperature—while a physician speaks with you.

“No unusual interactions with electricity or headaches?” asks the physician.

“No. He hasn’t displayed… _anything_ …really.” You try not to sound disappointed.

The human nurse disappears for a minute and then wheels in a blocky device with a screen attached to it. You must look nervous because the physician assures you this won’t hurt Suxxor. It doesn’t make you any more comfortable.

The nurse straps a tiny helmet to Suxxor and the screen starts to play a video. The video plays a variety of images, sounds, and colors while the physician pays close attention to the EKG. If it starts beeping, it means that he’s psionically active.

Latula told you that you nearly shorted out the machine because recorded gunfire startled you.  

The video moves between aged stock footage with increased rapidity: peaceful meadows, busy industrial parks, loud rock concerts, somber orchestras, and chaotic Great War battlefields.

Suxxor doesn’t react. In fact, he yawns and falls asleep just as a Great War battalion charges the Germanium trenches.

“I think we can call it a morning,” you sigh.

“Yes. The EKG is completely flat.” The physician frowns, “Your child lacks…psionics.”

He was going to say ‘talent’ or ‘hazards’. Those are the only categories for psionics: either they’re useful to the military or a danger that must be destroyed. The humans say that the tests are to protect trolls but you’ve never seen a troll employed here.

You pick up the sleeping grub and put him in the carrier. “Guess we’ll see you again when he enters school and hits puberty.”

“Of course.” The physician says, indifferently.

The nurse gives you a lollipop to give to Suxxor, since he was a good boy. You leave the office and head down in the elevator.

Vriska is in the lobby with avoiding the pouring rain outside.

You walk over to her. “How’d it go for you?”

“Nothing got to Arthat.” Vriska says, shrugging. Arthat is sitting in his bag with Snippy, purring as the lusus strokes his hair.

“I know being a psionic is a pain but I thought we’d be closer if he was.” you sigh.

“There’s no use for psionics these days, especially in New Jack.”

She leaves without saying anything else and so do you. You drive back home. When you let Suxxor out of the carrier, the grub has a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You’re trying to code but Suxxor keeps staring at you. “What is it? Are you hungry?”

Suxxor cries and clings to your foot. You try your usual methods of calming him—putting him the rocking coon, giving him his favorite toy—but he wants to cling instead, which makes coding damn near impossible.

With a grub on your arm, you go see Eridan. “ED, I know you’re in a shitty mood but I can’t get Suxxor _off_ me.”

Eridan is lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. “It’s his way of bonding, I think.”

“Eridan,” You sit next to him, “you can’t keep beating yourself up like this.”

“I’m not.” Eridan says.

“Yeah, you _are_!” you say, “You _say_ you’re fine, but you’re still acting like you’re the worst person on the planet! If misery smelt like fish, you’d stink of it.”

“Stop, Sol.” Eridan sits up, “You’re getting _way_ too pale in our kismesistude. You seriously need to start dating.”

“It’s not my fault you take shitty care of yourself.”

“Sol, you need a matesprit’s distraction or a more stable moirailegiance to fixate on. You’re _smothering_ for a kismesis.” Eridan continues, “Why don’t you just flush Kar?”

You stare at him. “What.”

“It’s super obvious you two like each other.”

“No! Eridan…” Shit, you were not prepared to deal with _this_. “I’m not going to make a move on KK. He wants stability and he can’t get that with my daily bipolar fuck-ups. And when did this conversation become about _me_?”

“Because you’re the one who needs guidance.” Eridan stretches out for his cane and slowly stands, looking ten feet taller and a hundred years older. “It’s hard to be afraid of small things when in the grand scheme, nothing in this earthly life matters. We’re just ants on a beach.”

“Really.” Your pity evaporates and you’re gladder for it. “And what about Meenah?”

“What about her?” Eridan shrugs. “We’ve made our peace. That’s all we can do. We were all children letting adults tug our strings.”

You don’t know what drugs Eridan ingested during his drug trip but you hope that it wears off.

You leave the bedroom (with Suxxor) and try to distract him by watching TV. Suxxor only disengages when your turn to a celebrity poker match. You attempt to finish your coding, but your mind is too spaced out.

You want to talk to someone.

Scratch that. You want to talk to Karkat and ask if he’s alright. You want to hear his voice, from his shrieking anger to the satisfied purrs…but you shouldn’t lead him. He’s probably busy.  

Fuck it. You call Terezi.

“Gods, I hope I don’t have to make anymore hospital trips for a long time.” Terezi yawns and you hear squeaking n the background. “Hey, Kempie! Yes, Daddy’s still asleep.”

“Does the kid have a name?”

“Astrid. He picked it because Kurloz hated it. How are things with Eridan?”

“Considering how your default mood is ‘nosey’ something tells me you already know ‘the deets’.”

“I’m not nosey! All I do is talk to Karkat and you’re only talking to me to avoid talking to him.”

“I am not! I can call my sister if I want!”

“Sollux, I hate to be a big sister slash mother figure, but I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

You sometimes wish you had a more self-obsessed and negligent sister, like Vriska. “There’s just some things I can’t talk to Dad about…”

“Sollux,” Terezi sighs, “you’re less ‘moirails’ with Dad and more ‘emotional caretaker’.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“What do you mean?”

“You _always_ see things in black or white. I didn’t say that I wanted to stop being moirails with Dad. It’s just _frustrating_ sometimes.”

“What do you expect me to say? I’m your sister, not your moirail. I’m going to give you my opinion and my opinions aren’t indecisive like yours.”

“You mean I should always jump the gun? Like _you_?”

“I’d rather not have this argument again, especially during my downtime.”

“Fine. Talk to you later.”

You say goodbye and hang up. You should do something productive but instead you stare at the ceiling cracks. Eventually you go to the bedroom and see Mituna is still gaming. His hair’s gotten so large and ratty that his face has almost disappeared.

“MT, let’s get you cleaned up.” You say.

“Busy,” Mituna says.

“I’ll unplug the console.” you threaten.

The roles in your home regularly flip-flop. In one moment the parents are children and in the next, the children are parents.

 _Will this happen with my kids and me?_ you think as you wash and trim Mituna’s hair.

When Mituna is clean and has food shoveled in him, you smoke. Suxxor joins you in the bedroom and sits in your lap.

“Suxxor doesn’t have psionics,” you sigh between puffs, “I don’t know why I’m disappointed.”

“I doubt humans know how to provoke psionic reactions for all trolls.” Mituna says.

“Either way, I don’t think he’ll be a strong psionic.” 

Mituna tilts his head. “Why do you get flustered about Karkat?”

The question catches you off guard and you groan. “I’m not flustered about Karkat! He’ll always be my friend and I don’t want to lose him if we break up.”

“Karkat is still friends with Vriska and you’re still friends with Feferi.”

“Everyone is different.” You grunt, “There’s no guarantee _we’ll_ be friends. It’s too late anyway. If I told Karkat how I felt earlier, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten involved with Strider. Maybe I could’ve told him not to do certain things and…maybe he wouldn’t…”

“Been gang-raped?”

“Don’t say it like it that!” you growl.

“It’s what happened.”

“Don’t make it sound so casual!” you say, “Like it’s… _supposed_ to happen.”

Mituna stares at his lit blunt. “What happened to Karkat shouldn’t be about your guilt.”

“I _know_ that”--there’s a lump in your throat now--“but my brain is fucking stupid and I can’t _control_ it.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person.” Mituna sighs, exhaling smoke. “I won’t be like this for long.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Sol. Think.” Mituna says, bored. Is this how he was like before he fried his brain? “I’m not gonna die old. Odds are, it’ll be doing something retarded that kills me.”

“You’re not retarded, Mituna.”

“Fucking shut up.” Mituna snaps, “Sol, you never learn from your mistakes. You stalled with Nepeta. You stalled with Fef. Why are you afraid of choices?”

“Because I don’t want to make the wrong one.”

“Not acting is a choice too,”

Your stomach twists.  

“I’ll do _something_.” You murmur.


	3. underneath it all

**== >Sollux: Be Feferi later that night **

“So he’s not angry?” Kanaya asks.

“Not from what I can tell.” You say.

 

 

Momeju is soundly sleeping in her recuperacoon. She’s so tiny and precious and want to give her everything in the world. Kanaya and you are lying in your recuperacoon, enjoying the heat of your bodies in the warm slime.

“We both agree that forgiveness is important,” the jadeblood frowns, “but I can’t comprehend being locked up and innocent. I’d lose my mind.”

“He did. For a long time.”

Kanaya spends most of her time here now. Are you rushing things with her? Maybe.

“And still…he’s not angry?” Kanaya asks, perplexed.

“I think…” You consider, “I think Gamzee’s been so angry and bitter for so long that he just tapped out. Maybe he’s reached a state of total apathy. Karkat is acting the same way.” 

Kanaya’s body is tepid against yours, her thin fingers on your heftsacks. “And Meenah?”

Meenah has shrunken into a shell of apathy and lingering sadness. “I think she’s just confused.”

“Did you think this would happen?”

“No, but I’m relieved what I thought _would_ happen, didn’t.”

You swore someone would kill Eridan before the week was done; either purposely or a suspicious ‘accident’.

“I don’t know how apathetic he is though,” you say. “I wonder if…his meds are taking effect?”

“Should it take this long?”

“It can. Coldblood metabolism is slow; Gamzee is half-fuchsia so his metabolism could be slower than usual.”

Gamzee _has_ been focused lately. He didn’t even balk at your suggestion of bonding with Simham.  

“I know my brother’s not a good person,” You say, “but I think…it’ll turn out okay.”

Kanaya doesn’t answer. Everyone considers you a Pollyanna when it comes to your brother, but you know the truth.

At Gamzee’s lowest points, you wondered if you should bother. So every night you whisper your mantra: _Anyone who is trying deserves forgiveness._


	4. what we will be

**== >Feferi: Be Karkat reacting  **

You’ve returned to the emotional fog that clouded your mind after the abduction. Sound and color are subdued but you still robotically attend class but Dave still has to remind you to eat. Your sleep pattern warps like plastic under heat. You forget to take your pills and your paranoid thoughts jostle you awake.

_Gamzee used to be your friend._

_Eridan and Dualscar almost killed you._

_Gamzee tried to protect you._

_Gamzee tried to rape you._

_Gamzee raped your mother._

_Gamzee used to be your friend…_  

“I’m no expert on the physiology of bara mutantbloods but you need to take your sleep meds if you want to stay on a schedule.” Dave says.

It’s faint blue outside the bedroom window and you don’t know if the sun is coming up or going down.

“There is no way I’m bara, Strider.” You say, “For one thing…I am not a crab. Therefore, I am not bara. End sentence.”

“You don’t know what ‘bara’ is, do you?” Jade asks, reading her copy of _Raising Children in a Posthuman Society_ in her armchair.

“I know it’s your face, Harley.”

“How long have you been awake?” Dave asks. When you don’t answer he says, “Or rather: when was the last time you went to sleep?”

You have no idea. You may have nodded off while watching Subjug Shore since it made less sense than usual. “Whenever I feel like it.”

“I’m giving you your sleeping pills, you dork. It’s impossible to tease you when you’re half coherent.”

You want to scream. Strider taking care of you is borderline pale, but you’re too fatigued to fight him.

The second week is slightly better. You begrudgingly thank Dave for the previous week and attempt to play with Khanie. Both interactions result in being bitten, but worthwhile. At least you can pull your thoughts together.  

 _I should hate Gamzee. The first thing the asshole did, terrorize me, and assaulted Kankri…so why don’t I hate him? Maybe he’s too pathetic to hate? A lot of fucked up shit happened to him in prison; worse than I could ever inflict on him. Shit, this isn’t right. I shouldn’t sympathize with that fuckhead. He still raped Kankri. I don’t want to be like those dickheads that apologize for celebrities after it turns out they abused scores of women and no one believes them until said dickhead celebrity admits it. I should hate Gamzee! I should hate Eridan! I should fucking hate_ everyone _!_

Not much comes of these thoughts. To distract yourself from stagnant reasoning, you start jogging around the neighborhood. Sonny Jr. always trots behind you, wagging his tail, and listening to whatever idiocy you’re muttering.

“The person I should hate is Dualscar.” You tell the crab-dog. It’s a warm early evening; a Wednesday that you should be spending working on your report instead of jogging. I hate this OG troll bullshit. You know what I’m saying?”

Sonny Jr. tilts his head and offers an unhelpful “Churr?”

You turn down the road. “If this was Alternia, shit would be so much simpler. I’d just cull Gamzee. Problem solved. Everyone goes to their hive for grubloaf and grubsauce and whatever gross shit has the word ‘grub’ in it.”

Sonny Jr. headbutts your hand.

“Yeah, I still don’t know if they used troll grubs or giant bugs. Maybe both?” You smile. “You don’t care though. You’ll eat anything, won’t you, boy?”

Sonny Jr. barks and you pats his head. The lusus stands and hugs you, or rather, mangles you with his gangly limbs and claws.

“Off! Down, boy!” you laugh.

Sonny Jr. gets off (but not before more slobbering licks) and then turns his head, growling. You look down the road and see Gamzee stumbling around. “Easy, boy.” you say. 

Gamzee…doesn’t noticed you. His head whips around, dreadlocks flying around his face, and has a stricken look on his face—like his shadow’s ready to attack him. You call Gamzee but the purpleblood doesn’t notice. He runs in the opposite direction.

Well, shit. Now you’re curious. You follow the clown to the Nitram trailer and see Gamzee pacing around the yard. You stand at the yard edge and watch the purpleblood toss lawn chairs out the way, moves the trash can, looks behind the grill and the shed. He keeps muttering in “He can’t have gone far!” and “Kurloz is gonna fucking kill me.”

Your understanding is piecemeal until Gamzee calls out “Simham!”

The clown turns his head to you. “Have you seen Simham?” His words are jittery with barely-contained panic.

“No. What’s up?” you ask.

Gamzee chews on his nail. “Shit. Shit. _Shit_! I had him and I must’ve nodded off ‘cause he’s fucking _gone_ nowand the back door was open but the gate was up so maybe he climbed over it…”

It’s likely. Khanie’s current pastimes are eating, climbing, and biting. “Where’s everyone at?”

“Out.” Gamzee growls, which means everyone must be on a family excursion that purposely excludes him. “Shit, I looked all over but he’s _not here_. He’s not even hiding under the bed like he usually does. If he got hurt, Kurloz will fucking kill me…”

You can _smell_ his oncoming panic attack. You really should let the bastard twist in the wind—let him feel some of the anxiety and fear that plagued his victims—but then you weigh your platonic hatred against Simham’s life and it feels…dickish. There will be plenty of times in the future for you to point and laugh at Gamzee, but not when he’s genuinely worried about his kid.

“Did you check every room?” you ask.

“Of _course_ I did!” Gamzee growls, “He won’t come when he’s called! He didn’t come for his jingle-ball--”

“Do you have a blanket or clothes Simham wears?” Gamzee nods. “Alright, let’s have Sonny Jr. sniff it. He’ll smell out Simham.”

Gamzee looks at the crab-dog, which is still glaring at him. “He ain’t a police dog.”

“No, but he’s smarter than he looks. I’ve used him to uncover Khanie.”

Gamzee’s too desperate to refuse the idea. You go inside the Nitram trailer and holy shit, Gamzee’s panic has torn the house apart, from upending the couch to uprooting the cushions. Gamzee uncovers Simham’s blanket from a duffel bag and you give it to Sonny Jr. The crab-dog takes a long sniff and then runs down the hall.

Gamzee sits in a chair but fidgets like he just downed a pound of sugar. “How long does it usually take?”

It really depends on how far Simham is, but you try to be optimistic. “Not long.”

That doesn’t put Gamzee at ease. “I _knew_ this was a bad idea.” He huddles in the chair. “Fef was like ‘Spend more time with Simham’ and I was like ‘The fuck are you smoking? I can’t take care of _myself_ ’ but she was all _insisting_ and shit--” He shakes his head. “You know how she is.”

“Princess-like?”

Gamzee smiles, though his posture doesn’t change. “Think Fef would prefer ‘queenly’, but yeah. Fef can be bossy but she’s sweet. Cares ‘bout everybody no matter who they are.”

You’ve only had sparse conversations with Feferi and you’re partly to blame for that. “I like Fef. I always used to make fun of her for being so religious but, in retrospect, there’s nothing _wrong_ with it. She wasn’t hurting anyone and I was being a jerk.”

“I doubt Fef cares what you think. It ain’t what people say that makes faith what is. It’s what _you_ think. Ain’t no point in proving it to people who ain’t interested.”

You want to say something—anything about your mingled past—but then you hear barking. Gamzee runs down the hall and you follow. Sonny Jr. is in Rufioh’s room, barking and circling the bed sitting in the corner.  

“What is it, boy? The bed?” you ask the lusus. Sonny Jr. barks and tries to squeeze underneath, but the gap is too narrow.

Before you can ask, Gamzee tosses the bed across the room. Sonny Jr. runs to the corner and barks, claws scraping the floor.

“Sonny, back!” you command. The crab-dog moves away and your heart sinks. In the corner is a large ragged hole, no doubt made by rat teeth. _Giant_ rat teeth. “Oh no.”

Gamzee calls down the hole. “Simham?”

You hold your breath, straining your ears through the silence. After a minute, you hear a faint chirping.

Gamzee calls louder. _“Simham!”_ The chirping grows louder. Gamzee pulls out his iHusk and uses it as a flashlight. You look over the purpleblood’s shoulder while Sonny Jr. paces behind you.

Simham is sitting on a pile of dirt, broken cement, and rocks. The oliveblood grub is dirty, scratched up, and his little fanged mouth is smeared with red blood. Then you notice the two eviscerated rats lying near him.

Gamzee shakily exhales. “He’s okay. He must have chased a rat and fell down the hole.”

Only Gamzee and Nepeta’s son would hunt rats for fun. “How are we going to get him out? We’re too big to get under the trailer.”

“I don’t know.” Gamzee runs his fingers through his hair. “He’s only about five, six feet down. We could get him in a basket and lift him up, but we’d have to make the hole bigger.”

“I don’t think Rufioh would be happy about a giant hole in his bedroom floor.”

Gamzee frowns. “I’m not happy about my son being a gopher!”

The front door creaks open and Tavros yells, “Gamzee, what did you do to the _living_ _room_?”

Rufioh’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall and he enters the bedroom, carrying Wal-Mart groceries. “What are you doing in my _room_?” And then, “Why is my bed over there?” Then finally, “Wait, where’s Simham?”

“Uh,” you begin.

“Simham’s trapped under the trailer.” Gamzee quickly says.

Its several seconds before Gamzee’s words sink in. Then the brownblood sighs, “Only _your_ kid would have this problem.”

You stand on the sidelines with Sonny Jr. as the family convenes in the bedroom to resolve the situation. Everyone has a method—from the creative suggestion of inventing a ‘grub grabber’ using a fishing pole, wire, and fly ribbon to a stupid concept of tossing down stacked blocks and encouraging Simham to climb up. Periodically, Simham whines and Gamzee offers what little comfort he can.   

Things only become more of a spectacle once Nepeta and her family arrive. The oliveblood’s first act was to try climbing under the trailer. A heartfelt but futile attempt, as Nepeta was too big and Simham too frightened to move toward her. Simham’s scared whines only increase as the sky darkens.

“It’s almost eight. He has to be hungry.” Nepeta is still peering under the trailer. Simham whimpers loudly. “It’s okay, baby! You’ll be fine!”

“That’s it! I’m calling the fire department!” Tavros says.

“They’ll make a hole in my floor!” Rufioh protests.

“Unless you have drugs under the house, we don’t have much choice.” Meulin says, fixing the brownblood with a judging stare. 

Rufioh frowns. “Why would I put my stash under the house? It floods like _crazy_ here.”

“We can’t get at Simham any other way,” Porrim says, “and we’ll have documentation of the infestation for the insurance.”

“You can always stay with Porrim in the meantime, Rufioh.” you suggest.

Porrim grins at her matesprit. “That _is_ an idea!”

Rufioh looks conflicted between excitement and fear as to what Porrim will do to his body during the temporary stay.

The fire department arrives at the usual sluggish pace and with enough lights and noise to attract everyone in the neighborhood. As Rufioh predicted, the fire fighters chop a hole in the floor. Simham is dirty and crying when he’s removed from the hole and handed over to a tearful Nepeta.  

Gamzee, decidedly, hangs back. Feferi touches his shoulder in sympathy, but he shrugs it off.

You take this as your cue to leave. It’s been a long day and you _really_ need to sleep. As you leave, Gamzee looks over but doesn’t approach.

It’s as close to a conversation about the past that you’re going to get…and that’s fine.

You’re never going to forgive him and you’re under no obligation to do so. He understands that your forgiveness is not his concern. His family is.

And that’s the way it should be.


	5. epilogue: his choice

You see Eridan that weekend, under the pretense of visiting your nephews. Suxxor has no interest in anything outside the national blackjack championship that has mesmerized his tiny brain (and any attempt to change the channel results in dismayed shrieking). Dmitry lavishes any sort of attention.

“He’s very much _your_ kid.” You say to your brother.

Eridan smiles and pokes his son’s nose. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Blood color or not, he’s an Ampora as far as I’m concerned.”

“The hair streak proves he’s Ampora.” You delicately run a finger through Dmitry’s long pink hair. “How do you feel after…what happened?”

Eridan tilts his head. “After what exactly? It’s been a busy time for me.”

“After you nearly died. That’s when you were scarred right? You just seem…different. How do you feel?”

Eridan doesn’t flinch when you mention the new facial feature. Instead, he smiles. It’s a small, frail smile and you’re reminded that he has Kankri’s personality.

“Happier.” He summarizes. 


End file.
